


Of Big Brothers and Strange Dreams

by UmbraeCalamitas



Series: Become the Beast [9]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Acceptance, Alice in Wonderland References, Archangel Gabriel (Supernatural), Bisexual Dean Winchester, Brothers, Cadbury!verse, Coffee, College/University, Dean Winchester Loves Pie, Dean Winchester is Sam Winchester's Parent, Dean's Birthday, Family Feels, Fix-It, Fluff, Gabriel (Supernatural) is Loki, Gabriel is a Tease, Gen, Humor, Hunters, Hurt/Comfort, Merlin References, Nightmares, Pie, Protective Dean Winchester, Protective Sam Winchester, Rey loves to cook, Sam Winchester Loves Dean Winchester, Shapeshifting, Stanford University, Stanford-Era, The Feckin' Bean, The Princess Bride References, Time Travel, Time Travel Fix It, Tricksters, Voicemail, cadbury cremes, character cameos, leverage references
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-02
Updated: 2019-04-29
Packaged: 2019-09-05 09:54:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16808320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UmbraeCalamitas/pseuds/UmbraeCalamitas
Summary: Dean Winchester shows up at Stanford looking for Sam. Reunions, revelations, and a heap ton of pie follow. Somewhere in the midst of the mess, two brothers fix the broken parts of each other that had cracked open long before either them had realized.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Helloooooo and welcome back to Cadbury! NaNoWriMo is over and it's December 1st, so here is the promised first chapter of the new fic. I hope you all enjoy the epic bro-feels incoming. 
> 
> Also, for those wondering, I did indeed kick Nano's ass. The result of which ended up being a collaborative Thor/Marvel fic between myself and WhinyWingedWinchester. If you're a fan of Loki, Thor, and feels, I highly recommend you check out [And Home Will Feel Like Home Again](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16740490/chapters/39269743), but mind the warnings. <3
> 
> Thanks to the Discord Crew for all their help, and happy reading!

There was someone looking for Sam. 

By the time he reached Dr. Roderick’s classroom, three people had informed Sam that someone on campus was looking for him. As he had taken the hour between classes to run back to his apartment and grab the book he had forgotten, Sam didn’t have time to go figure out who was trying to find him. Instead, he had to take his seat in his Algebra II class with his mind whirling. Who would be looking for him?

He’d tried to ask the people who had told him, but Professor Devereaux had only shrugged and brushed off his concerns with an airy wave of her hand and a declaration that they needed to focus on the  _ now _ and the now was time for theatre. She reminded Sam, ridiculously, of Professor Trelawney from  _ Harry Potter _ . 

Arthur had told him about someone looking for him, but he was apparently only passing along a message from someone else and hadn’t seen who it was and couldn’t give Sam a description of who was trying to find him. 

The third person, a girl in his Fencing class whose name he didn’t even know, said Fezzick, Professor Montoya’s teaching assistant, had asked her to pass the word along, and that he had been  _ really very cheerful about it and so I don’t think it’s anything to be worried about.  _ Although, in Sam’s experience, Fezzick was  _ always  _ in a cheerful mood, so that didn’t really offer him much comfort. 

In the end, Sam was forced to sit through three hours of a class he heard barely a word of. His leg jittered up and down beneath the desk and his fingers played with the pen in his hands to keep from tapping his fingers on the desk. 

His mind kept sorting through the possibilities of who could be looking for him and the list wasn’t long. In fact, the only person that came to mind was the last person Sam wanted on campus and near his friends. 

His dad. 

When Dr. Roderick dismissed them, Sam beat everyone else out the door, nevermind that he sat in the second row back from the front. He shoved his book in his bag as he ran across campus. 

He couldn’t imagine anyone would be foolish enough (or know enough) to tell some strange man looking for him where he lived. In all likelihood, John Winchester knew exactly where Sam’s apartment was. The problem, of course, was that Sam obviously wasn’t  _ there _ . 

Hence the hunt. 

The thought of his dad hunting on campus made him flinch internally and he headed off to the only place he could imagine anyone would direct someone looking for Sam: The Feckin’ Bean. 

It seemed to take him forever to get there. Sam was fast. Years of training to the standards of a Marine since childhood and then the weeks of jogging in the mornings before classes assured that Sam was fit. Even so, it took him too long to get across campus and then he had to race down the familiar path toward the coffee shop. 

His every step came with visions of what he might find when he arrived. If Rey was there… Rey could handle himself. Certainly he could escape if he needed to, if he was fast enough. If he was prepared. 

But why would any of his friends be prepared? Rey knew that Sam was a hunter but he hadn’t told anyone else out of fear. He was pretty sure Kathy was connected to the supernatural somehow, and even if she wasn’t, Alice was a trickster of some sort, and he knew the reputation hunters had among their kind. He hadn’t wanted to broadcast what he was and have them be afraid of him, and so they didn’t know that if John Winchester showed up looking for his son, the safest thing to do would be to run as far and as fast as they could. 

But what if they didn’t? Or what if they tried but weren’t fast enough? What if Sam walked into The Feckin’ Bean and his friends were there and it was just a bloodbath? If Alice was there and Kathy or Rey had tried to protect her and John had just… had…

His eyes burned with frightened tears as he shoved the door open, ignoring the sharp clatter as it slammed against the wall, glass rattling in the pane. He burst into the room, hand reaching for a weapon he didn’t have ready, expecting blood or an attack or a gun in his face. 

“Sam!” Kathy shouted, dropping the coffee she had been making in shock and leaping away from the hot spill. “Fath—son of a horse!” She jerked her head up with a scowl. “Are you trying to give me a heart attack? Or break my door?”

Sam heard her but he barely paid her any mind. His eyes were riveted on the dark jacket, the head of spiky hair, the bright green eyes that only one person in the whole of the universe had. 

Sam’s voice failed him, leaving him only able to mouth his brother’s name ineptly as the older boy walked toward him. 

Dean sent him a wide grin that, for all the teeth it showed, didn’t touch his eyes. Instead, the wrinkles at the edge of Dean’s eyes told of a worry that should have been years away from him, far in the future and never coming to him if Sam had anything to say about it. 

“Heya, Sammy,” Dean said, and wrapped his arms around Sam in a tight hug. 

Sam didn’t move at first because… because Dean was hugging him. Hugging him? And not one of those “I’m so glad you’re back from being dead” hugs. Just a “hey, I missed you” normal sort of hug, like they hadn’t had in forever, since before Cold Oak and True Vessels and everything that came after. 

“You okay, Sammy?” Dean must have sensed the tension in Sam’s body, because his voice came out in that dangerous growl that promised pain to whoever had hurt his little brother. 

“Dean?” Sam asked softly, his arms coming up slowly to wrap around his brother in a return hug, his mind searching for answers. Why was Dean here? Now? His brother had never visited him here before. He had never come to Stanford. When Sam left, Dean had just cut ties with him, never contacting him until their dad disappeared and Dean needed his help. 

“You called me, dude. Left one hell of a message on my phone, and when I tried to call back, your number was disconnected.” There was a shift in tone there, a question.  _ Were you trying to get away from us for good? From me?  _ Something cracked and uncertain in his brother’s voice that reminded Sam that he had never contacted Dean either, that first run through Stanford. Might not have this time either, except for too much whiskey on Thanksgiving and a drunken voicemail message. 

“Lost my phone,” Sam choked out through tears. “Had to get a new one. New number. I…” His hands shuddered against his brother’s back and he choked on a sob. “Dean?”  _ You’re really here? Really? _

“Yeah, Sammy.” A hand smoothed down his back, reading the unspoken question and answering in the way Dean has always been able to when they were young. Before everything went wrong. “I’m here.”

“Promise?” he whispered before he could stop himself, before he could think better of the word, and he felt Dean’s arms tighten around him protectively. Could almost feel the worry rolling off him, the furious questions that beat at him - what was wrong with his little brother? 

“I promise, Sammy. I’m here. And I’m not going anywhere until you’re sick of me.” 

Sam thought of the brother he had left back in the future, filled with hate and so tired of dealing with Sam and so ready to be done with him, and he couldn’t hold back his tears as he buried his face in Dean’s collar and sobbed out a reassurance that he would  _ never  _ be tired of Dean. Never. 

Dean sighed, his breath warm against Sam’s neck. “I didn’t understand a word of that, dude.” One arm uncurled from around him and Sam strangled the keening whine of grief in the back of his throat, pulling away from Dean.  _ No chick flick moments. _

“Hey, who said you could leave?” Dean asked sharply, wrapping an arm around Sam’s shoulders and tugging him close again in a tight hug. “Idiot,” he said, and the fondness in his voice broke Sam in a way he didn’t realize he  _ could  _ break. He’d missed his brother  _ so much  _ he felt like he was finally breathing after not realizing he’d been dead for years. 

“Let’s move this to one of the couches before people start thinking I’m breaking up with you.” Dean tugged on his shirt, pulling him toward the corner couch that was the most secluded piece of furniture in the shop. 

Only once they sank down onto the couch did Sam realize how altered the coffee shop was. The small tables in the main area had been drawn together into one long table, decorated with teacups and saucers and pastries. There were a few people around the coffee shop on the bean bags or the smaller tables off to the side, but they had the decency to avert their eyes and mind their own business. Dean dropped down onto the couch next to him. He was sitting closer than he would have normally. Sam stared at their legs, pressed flush together, the pressure against the outside of his calf a testament to how Dean was  _ deliberately  _ pressing his leg against Sam’s. 

An arm curled around behind him and then fingers tightened on the back of his neck, sinking into the hair at his nape. Sam closed his eyes and exhaled a shuddering breath.  _ Dean. _

“You wanna tell me what that voicemail was about, Sammy?”

Sam snorted. “Couldn’t if I wanted to. I don’t remember it. I was drunk.”

“Oh believe me,  _ I know _ . Drunk’s an understatement, man.” Those fingers tightened, digging into the tense muscles of his neck and Sam groaned in relief. “You end up in the hospital for that stint?”

“No,” Sam managed to get out, as Dean worked out a particularly rough knot that had been making Sam’s shoulder spasm the last couple days. “You’re cheating asking me questions while doing that.”

“Heh.” Dean didn’t pause in digging at the tight muscles. “You must’ve been bent over books for months to get knots this bad. What’re you doing here - building a time machine?”

Sam made a choking sound in the back of his throat but it was overshadowed by the sudden crash from behind the counter.

“I’m okay!” Kathy announced, popping back up from behind the counter, red braid swinging. Her apron was drenched in mocha syrup and covered in what looked like sprinkles. “Oh, fantastic. I have to do laundry tonight.” She looked up at them, eyes scanning Sam in a way he recognized as her checking him for injuries, and then moving to Dean. 

“So, Sweets, who’s this? Boyfriend?” 

Dean made a strangled sound of insult and reluctant humor. Sam couldn’t help his smile as he said, “Kathy, this is my big brother, Dean. Dean, this is Kathy Harris, one of my friends and the best barista in California.”

“Ohhhh, you just want a free mocha.” She squinted at Sam, wagging a finger at him in an  _ I am onto you, mister _ gesture, before turning to Dean. “So. You’re Sweets’ big brother, huh? Let’s see… leather jacket, spiky hair, fanfiction green eyes, smells like motor oil, looks like something the cat dragged in—”

“Hey!” Dean cries, insulted. 

“I gotcha. Hold on a sec.” She bent down behind the counter again and Sam heard the sound of shuffling ingredients and then the whirring crunch of a coffee grinder. 

“She’s a friend of yours?” Dean asked, sounding unimpressed. He relaxed from his tense position next to Sam as no more crashing followed. 

“Yes,” Sam said with a smile, “one of the best.”

His brother snorted. “Yeah, well, I’ll take your word for it. I haven’t seen anything special yet.”

Kathy walked over and placed a cup and a plate on the coffee table in front of the couch. “Black coffee, squeeze of lemon, dash of vanilla. Obviously the missing saltiness comes from your personality.” Sam snorted a laugh into his hand and ignored the scowl Dean sent his way. “And a slice of Kathy’s Perfect Pecan Pie. First slice is on the house.”

“Forget what I said. I get what Sam sees in you.” 

“I doubt it,” Kathy said with a grin. “Welcome to The Feckin’ Bean, Trigger. Enjoy your feckin’ pie.”

“Trigger?” Dean asked, hesitating as he picked up the plate and mug. 

“Kathy nicknames everyone,” Sam explained.

“Mmhm, and Trigger suits you.” She eyed his waist where Sam knew Dean’s sidearm sat. “I was gonna call you Cherry Pie, but you’re not my type.”

Dean sent Sam a side-eye and Kathy snorted. “He’s not my type either.” 

Sam wondered if he should be insulted by how disgusted she sounded at the idea. “Uh… thanks?”

Kathy rolled her eyes and turned back to the counter. She grabbed another coffee mug and began making something new, so Sam knew he was going to get a drink too. 

Sam grinned as Dean devoured his pie with obvious enthusiasm. “You should try chewing.”

“Shut up, Samantha. I’ll eat my pie however I want.”

Sam couldn’t even make his normal bitchface at the name. He was just too happy to see Dean to get the smile off his face. 

“You miss me that much, huh?”

Sam startled and realized Dean was watching him. He blushed in embarrassment and upset at realizing the comment had been, while Dean’s honest humor, said with the intent to determine his reaction, and he hadn’t disappointed. Sam looked away, teeth clenched in fury. He’d forgotten how good Dean was at reading him and how smart he was, hidden beneath the music quotes and the mask he wore to let people think he was an uneducated buffoon. Some of that intelligence - not the manipulative sharp edge that Dean could be so good at, but the softer part of it, the know-how that let him determine the source of a problem and work to solve it - had been lost over the years of fighting Heaven and Hell and each other. But here, now, this Dean was unspoiled by the world. Still a little harsh, still made into a Warrior by their father, and still undoubtedly a hunter, but he also still had  _ hope _ . 

And he still loved his brother. 

_ “Sam.” _

Sam looked up in surprise at the tone. Dean was watching him, eyes filled with worry, and Sam bit his lip hard. 

“Dude… what happened to you?”

“I’m fine,” Sam said quickly. Too quickly, by the way Dean’s eyes flicked up and down his body, looking for wounds or something to tell him why his little brother was different from the boy who had run away only a few months ago. 

Sam hadn’t thought about that. That when Dean saw him, the changes, the years spent fighting angels and demons and everything in between, would be so visible to his brother. 

He wasn’t prepared for this. 

“Are you getting enough to eat?” Dean set his fork back on his plate with half of his pie uneaten. Alarm bells started ringing loudly in Sam’s brain. 

“What?”

“Do you have enough money for food or you need me to hustle some pool? There is at least one bar in your college town, isn’t there? There better be. You got a place to stay?” His eyes squinted like he was fighting off a migraine and Sam knew that his brother was about two seconds from pulling up Stanford University’s proverbial rugs to make sure his little brother had everything he needed. He would scour the university like a dog tracking a scent and while that was great when they were on a case, it would not be particularly useful here, where Sam had to stay for the next three and a half years. 

“I’m fine,” he said, sending Kathy a distracted smile when she set a coffee in front of him. “I live in an apartment not far from here. My roommate’s out most of the time and I’ve never actually met them, but everything is good. I’m eating well. There are three bars in walking distance, though I don’t hustle at the one anymore after that first time.”

Dean snorted. “You overdo it?”

Sam scratched his ear, thinking about the $1500 he had won from an asshole who had soon after left town. “You could say that.” 

“Is this a story I want to hear?” 

Sam’s mouth curled into a pleased grin and Dean laughed. “That’s my boy.” He slapped Sam’s shoulder and recollected his pie. “So we are definitely going out to this bar so I can hear this story at the source.” He glanced at Sam from under his lashes in a seemingly-casual look that, had this been his first run through Stanford, Sam would not have realized held a wealth of uncertainty. “Unless you’re busy with school and you want me to get out of your space so you can get back to being a total nerd.”

Sam smiled at him and oh, how he wished he had realized before just how much Dean doubted himself. “Actually, Dean,” he said, aching as his brother tensed in preparation for a blow, “you mind hanging around for a few days?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Dean talk and there are some quiet revelations and even quieter reassurances. No chick-flick moments, right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys are awesome. I got so many comments on the first chapter of this fic. It was so amazing. You're all my favorites, I don't care what Crowley says. ;)

The best thing about Dean getting to Stanford on Wednesday (asides from the fact that he was there at all) was that Sam only had Arthurian Lit Thursday morning and then he was free until Monday. Because he kept up on all of his classes and did work ahead whenever he was able, he didn’t have to worry about finishing any assignments before next week. He was completely free to spend time with his brother. 

After they left The Feckin’ Bean on Wednesday afternoon, Sam had taken Dean back to his apartment. This, of course, prompted an explanation about why he wasn’t staying in a dormitory. Sam didn’t go into a lot of detail about the poltergeist or how close he had come to becoming a Samkabob. He would have to let Rey know that, if his brother asked, it had only been a small haunting and they’d dealt with it. Let Dean infer a good old fashioned, simple salt and burn, and nothing about projectile stairway banisters and reincarnated kings of old. 

Actually, once he mentioned how he’d needed to stay in an apartment on his own funding for a semester, he’d spent a good ten minutes convincing his brother that he did not need to run to the Financial Office and give the poor receptionist a piece of his mind. The university had reimbursed him for that, after all, and Sam wasn’t paying for the apartment he stayed in now. Problem solved.

Of course, once they finally parked the Impala and taken the elevator up to his floor and unlocked the door, Dean had turned all of his attention on scouring Sam’s apartment for threats and inspecting his window sills. They were protected with a line of salt, just like they’d been taught, but Sam had needed to do it on the  _ outside,  _ which required him to replace it with some frequency, due to the wind. Still, it functioned. 

Sam watched, partly exasperated and filled with warmth, as Dean went from window to window. Only the fact that he didn’t have a corner apartment and thus no windows in either bedroom kept his brother from picking the lock on his mysterious roommate’s bedroom door. Even then, Sam had to argue with him about it for almost ten minutes before Dean finally gave up. And then he went and bitched about the lack of salt around Sam’s door. 

That had been a problem for Sam when he first moved in. Putting a line of salt across the door frame would have worked if not for the fact that every time the door was shut, some salt fell onto the floor. Sharing an apartment with someone, that wouldn’t have worked particularly well. 

Sam had found a solution after some thinking, though, which he showed to Dean. He had cut two long strips of clear packing tape and lain one sticky-side-up on the floor one day, drawing a line of salt across its length. He’d then carefully lain the other strip of tape along the first, sealing them together and the salt between them. A couple small pieces of tape to make sure it didn’t fall and he had a portable strip of salt hidden above the door frame, functional but not obvious. 

Dean had been impressed and Sam could see the gears working in his head, adding it to his mental toolkit. He was glad to be able to offer his brother a new trick. 

He showed him around the apartment, watching as his brother took in the simple decor. The walls of this apartment were, as Sam suspected of the whole building, a soft cream color, the carpets a light brown that made him think of the long stretch of sand you saw in photos of the Sahara. 

In contrast, the kitchen was like an oasis in the center of the desert. The floor was a soft, sage green linoleum that stretched like a field of grass from the edge of the living room to the back wall. There was more countertop space than Sam had expected, the black and grey faux-marble pattern contrasting starkly against golden oak cupboards. The kitchen bore a large window - one of the only ones in the apartment - and was well-lit for it. The table in the kitchen was decent in size, large enough for four people, though it only had two chairs. Sam liked to sit there to do his homework, his books spread out around him. 

Hands on his hips, Dean let out an appreciative whistle. “All this for being a gigantic nerd, Sammy? I shoulda shipped you off to college years ago.”

Sam laughed. “I don’t think they would’ve taken in a teenager, Dean.”

His brother snorted loudly. “Yeah right. You’ve always been too damn smart. They would’ve been idiots not to.” He leaned his hip against the counter and crossed his arms. “So what’re you gonna show me next? Got a strip club you’ve been holding out on me?”

Sam desperately strangled the laugh that tried to bubble up out of his throat. Still, he couldn’t stop his lips twisting at the thought. All he could hear in his mind was Cas’ righteous complaints about being taken to a Den of Iniquity. 

Obviously, he managed to hide his humor well enough, but that just left Dean with that concerned look on his face. “What’s up with the face, Sammy? You sick or something?” Dean reached out and pressed a hand against Sam’s forehead. Sam just stared at him. 

“Well, you don’t have a fever. What? Why’re you looking at me like that? Something on my face?”

Sam shook his head, shaking away thoughts of the Dean from his time, and gave his brother a grin. “So you’ve got two choices for sleeping. Couch, and I don’t know if my roommate will draw sharpie on your face in the middle of the night, or you can bunk with me.” 

“Aw, Sammy, is that you telling me you wanna cuddle your big brother?” 

Sam grinned at him. “You’d rather brave the unknown roommate, go ahead.” 

Dean grinned at him. “Never know, Sammy. She might be hot.” 

“She might be a guy,” Sam warned, though he rather suspected otherwise. The shampoo and conditioner in the bathroom at least suggested he had a female roommate, but he wasn’t about to go rooting around in their stuff to check. 

Dean gave an unconcerned shrug. “He could be hot too.” He must have realized what he’d said a moment later because he looked suddenly almost afraid and shoved his hands in his pockets, looking away from Sam. “They could be a total ass, though, I don’t wanna get water dumped on me at 3am, so I’ll stay with you.”

Sam nodded, a little startled. Not that Dean was at least bisexual - if he hadn’t figured that out about Dean with Cas hanging around for years, then Sam had no business going to Stanford on a scholarship. What surprised him was that Dean was  _ aware _ of it. Growing up, he had never given any indication that Sam had been aware of. But then, John had always been there, or at least his shadow, lurking judgmentally overhead and demanding they follow his rules. Even if Dean had been aware, admitting to such a thing in front of John would have been nerve-wracking at the very least. And maybe John would have accepted it - Sam didn’t know for sure, though he suspected not - but that didn’t mean Dean would have ever felt comfortable enough with the threat of retaliation to admit to it. And the first time around, they had never seen each other during the years Sam was at Stanford. If Dean had never admitted it to Sam, he might never have admitted it to  _ anyone _ , and maybe even managed to convince himself that he was as straight as his aim with a .45. 

“Man, I hope my roommate isn’t a hot guy,” he said after a moment. “That would just be distracting.”

He didn’t look directly at Dean, but he saw the way his head whipped around to stare at Sam, surprised. And then the way the muscles in his shoulders relaxed slightly. 

_ Good, _ Sam thought. If Dean realized that Sam didn’t care if he was straight or bi or gay or even pan, then maybe things would run a little smoother. 

How much of their biting at each other, he wondered, had been the result of both of them trying to be something they weren’t? Sam desperately trying to be Normal when he was anything but, and Dean doing everything he could to please their dad, so far that he ended up emulating him to obsessive levels. And how much of that could Sam curb - in the both of them - with a little self-awareness and a more observant regard toward his brother? 

He supposed only time would tell. 

“So,” he said, turning to Dean with a grin, “best thing about college towns is the variety. What’re you hungry for?”

* * *

Dean had voted for Mexican food, so Sam had introduced him to Casa Delicioso, a fairly large Mexican restaurant a few miles from the university that Sam had stumbled on by accident one day. The food was delicious, as evidenced by the fact that the parking lot never had less than half its spaces filled with patrons. 

They’d ordered food and eaten well, chatting idly the whole time. Sitting in the far corner away from the busier areas of the restaurant, the two discussed Dean’s hunting while Sam had been at Stanford. 

He knew Dean was leaving some things out but didn’t dig for them. Cassie was probably still a sore point for his brother and Sam didn’t like the idea of using his future knowledge that way. Instead, they talked about the salt and burn in the Florida Panhandle where the ghost of an old woman that had been cremated had been terrorizing her children. Dean had ended up salting and burning a quilt the woman had made during her life that had tethered her soul to the area. He still wasn’t entirely sure that the people’s thanks had been honest. The great grandson of the ghost, a twelve year old boy named William, had looked particularly angry at Dean’s destruction of a family heirloom. 

“Once they realize how much calmer their life is without constant ghost attacks, they’ll be more grateful,” Sam assured him. 

“Hope so. Man, but that kid was  _ pissed.”  _

“He might have been really close to his grandmother. It was probably hard to see her go, even if she had been tormenting them.” Dean nodded thoughtfully and Sam added, “It was probably something like a miracle for him, you know. She died and was gone and he had to deal with that, and at that age. And then she was back.” 

Dean nodded slowly but his eyes were distant and he had a lost look in his eyes that Sam recognized from when they were kids. It was the same look that cropped up whenever something reminded Dean of their mom. 

He swallowed and resisted the urge to say something, his own mind going to the first time he truly saw Mary Winchester that he could remember. The poltergeist haunting their old house in Kansas would need to be dealt with and Sam didn’t know yet whether to handle it alone or bring Dean along. He still remembered the desperation in Dean’s voice when he said he’d sworn never to go back there, and never to take Sam back there. 

Knowing what he did now, of what had happened that night and of how it was Dean who had carried him from the house, Sam had a better understanding of why Dean had made that oath to himself. He wasn’t sure he wanted to force his brother to break it. 

“So you salt and burned a withered old lady,” Sam said, sending Dean a teasing grin. “Was that all you could handle without me around to watch your back?”

“Dude, I’m twenty-three.” Sam felt a chill go through him at the words, said with casual affront, the same way they would have been spoken in three and a half years, when Sam was surprised that their dad let Dean hunt alone. “So there was this case on this fucking island off the coast of Maine. I had to leave Baby in a  _ parking garage _ .”

Sam listened to Dean’s over-dramatic whining about trying to smuggle all the things he needed for the case in increasingly-unlikely places, until Sam was laughing and Dean was bent over his hamburger, trying to finish his story between snickers. “And--and then I tied my bullets to the leg of a seagull…”

“You’re full of shit,” Sam gasped.

“And we reenacted  _ Birds!”  _

_ “Please _ tell me you at least yelled ‘say hello to my little friend’ at one point.”

“Son of a bitch!”

Sam knew the jokes were as much a distraction from what really happened as a source of amusement for Dean, but he let it slide. It was funny and it was great to see Dean laugh and great  _ to _ laugh, but later, when things had calmed down, he would think about all the things that were between the lines and all the things that his brother  _ hadn’t _ said. 

And if he was able to convince Dean to stay through the weekend, then he might be able to get answers out of him during that time. No need to push him now and ruin the moment. 

Besides, more concerning than the omissions from the case were the winces and how Dean seemed to pull himself out of a chair too carefully. He was sore and possibly injured. He was also, Sam realized as Dean drove them back toward Sam’s apartment, probably running on fumes. It would be exactly like Dean to listen to Sam’s drunken voicemail and drive across the country without stopping for more than gas and coffee. If he had been in Maine prior to coming, or even just somewhere around that area, it was at least a 48 hour drive to California, and Sam was probably being generous. 

“You wanna go get a couple beers at that bar?” Dean asked, and Sam had to admire how well Dean hid his exhaustion. 

“Nah, there won’t be many people there tonight. Tomorrow would be better.” 

Dean nodded. “Tomorrow.”

“I’ve got one class in the morning so you’re gonna be on your own for a couple hours. I have a spare key to the apartment, though.”

“Sounds good, Sammy.” 

Dean winked at him and turned the music up, Metallica blaring loudly. Sam didn’t take offense to the move. Dean was surreptitiously trying to keep himself awake. 

Sam rolled his eyes.  _ One day, you are actually going to willingly hand me the keys.  _

He could almost hear Dean’s snorting laugh.  _ In your dreams, dude.  _

Sam smiled. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam's changed a lot and Dean doesn't like it. While he's in class, Dean finally gets a chance to inspect his brother's apartment for threats. He finds more than he's expecting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's almost Yule! I hope you're all having a wonderful time, however you celebrate. <3

When Sam’s alarm went off Thursday morning, he rolled over and hit it quickly to turn it off, then listened for a while. He heard the shuffling movements of someone rearranging themselves and the muffled snuffling of his brother, and then silence. He breathed a sigh of relief. 

The way they were raised, a single noise could have both Sam and Dean awake at a moment's notice, adrenaline racing through their bloodstream. Which was a life-saving skill during a hunt or an attack. When it was a car backfiring in the middle of the night, however, that coursing adrenaline made it impossible to get back to sleep. 

Dean had been so exhausted the previous night that he had sat down on the couch while Sam got them some drinks. He’d come out to find his brother snoring lightly, head leaned back against the cushions, and hadn’t been the least surprised. 

Getting him to lie down had been easy, Sam well-practiced if a bit rusty at coaxing his brother to move even while asleep. He’d covered him with a blanket and written a note to his roommate about the man on the couch being his brother and not some tired burglar. He’d been concerned that Dean would wake up throughout the night or that Sam’s alarm would wake him, but peering out of his bedroom, he saw that his brother was still asleep. 

He had a brief thought that maybe having Sam there, someone to watch his back, was a reassurance to this version of his brother. He hoped so. He wanted to be someone that Dean could count on. 

Closing the door softly, Sam grabbed his change of clothes for the day and slipped into the bathroom to shower and change. He’d get through Arthurian Lit and be done for the weekend. He could spend the whole thing with his brother. 

* * *

Sam was different. 

Not bad different. Not necessarily. But different. 

Older. 

It made Dean nervous. 

Okay, that was a fucking lie. It didn’t make him nervous. It pissed him off. 

He’d spent his life protecting that kid, raising him, being a brother  _ and _ a parent, and now Sam was going to school in California and he was growing up and being his own person and Dean wasn’t there to witness it. 

Why did his dad have to be such an asshole, anyway? 

Dean was still angry about Dad kicking Sam out because he wanted to go to  _ school _ . He wanted to be normal. And no, Dean didn’t really think that was possible but if anyone could figure out how, it would be his little brother, and damnit, Dean hoped he managed it. He’d give anything for Sam to have a normal, happy life. Something Dean had accepted a long time ago would never be something  _ he  _ could have. He’d been raised a warrior and that wasn’t… that wasn’t something Dean knew how to not be. 

And Sam… seemed happy. Dean had expected… 

Well. Dean had expected to get here and find his brother cold and distant. He had anticipated that Sam’s drunken voicemail had been an alcohol-fueled mistake and Sam’s true desires for his and Dean’s relationship had been revealed in the disconnected phone number. That it wasn’t just John that Sam had been trying to get away from. 

So when Sam had walked into the coffee shop Dean’d been directed to by half a dozen people - had run into, more like, as though he were running for his life - Dean hadn’t known quite what to expect. A punch to his jaw, maybe, for daring to come to California and see his brother. 

But the look on Sam’s face. 

Shock he’d expected, sure. Surprise. Anger, even. But not… not Sam looking at him like Dean had crawled out of a grave to get there. Not like he was a fucking miracle. Dean had seen a lot of expressions on his little brother’s face over the years, but he could go forever without witnessing a look like that ever again. Like Sam’s whole world had been torn apart and was pieced back together right in front of him and he didn’t believe it. 

It made Dean want to be sick. And made him want to find whoever had done that to Sam, whoever had hurt him, and beat the living shit out of them. 

Instead, he’d been left to treat Sam like a wounded animal, his worry ratcheting up to apocalyptic levels as Sam mouthed his name but didn’t  _ speak.  _

More concerning still was how Sam didn’t return his hug. Sam, his super-tactile,  _ I like to emulate an octopus _ , girl of a brother, who often wished his dad and brother would just talk about their feelings. That brother. Dean had kept his voice low as he asked if Sam was okay, his eyes taking in the patrons of the coffee house, because if someone here was the source of Sam’s upset, Dean wanted the quickest path his fist could travel to their face. 

And then Sam had returned his hug with an uncertainty that was disturbing. As though he expected it was a trick and Dean would pull away, or disappear outright. A suspicion confirmed as Sam cautiously asked his name. What did he expect Dean was, then? A shapeshifter? A hallucination? A dream?

It was sick that he found any joy in Sam’s breakdown, but he couldn’t help but feel relieved that his brother was so glad to see him. Not that he wanted Sam sobbing into his jacket collar in front of a bunch of strangers, but the fears that Sam had wanted to cut ties with him completely were somewhat abated by the knowledge that his brother had missed him. Clearly, and with a desperation Dean found frightening. 

It didn’t quell all the fears. Sam might have missed him but that didn’t mean he wanted Dean around his new home and his new friends. But the knowledge that Sam hadn’t been trying to get away from  _ him  _ helped him bury that fact and keep his grin in place. Baffle them with bullshit - that was his middle name. 

The difference in the Sam he had helped get on the bus and the Sam he saw now was startling, though, and obvious. Sam laughed too much. Not like he was high on something or being foolish or lost a few screws on the bus ride over. Sam laughed like every crappy joke and song reference Dean tossed out was a miracle made just for Sam. That relief that Dean was there, as though he shouldn’t have been, or hadn’t been - it was more than homesickness but Dean couldn’t fathom the cause. It was almost like he had been dead, or was dead, and his return was unexpected and jarring. But that didn’t make sense because Dean hadn’t been dead and he would have known if he had been, surely. He wasn’t missing any time and he’d been reading the papers for hunts and there hadn’t been any reports of sexy men who died and came back to life. And damnit, he was perfectly fine. So why was Sam acting like he hadn’t seen Dean in years? 

It was fucking aggravating because there wasn’t anything Dean could do about it, short of asking Sam if  _ he’d  _ been seeing things, too, and that wasn’t really a discussion that Dean was prepared for. Pretty sure he’d  _ never _ be prepared for it. 

* * *

When Dean opened his eyes Thursday morning, the first thing he noticed was the water stain on the ceiling that hadn’t been completely hidden by the paint job. The apartment above Sam’s had obviously flooded rather spectacularly to produce that kind of damage. He wondered how stable the floor was. 

With an irritated growl, he got up and wandered off to find a phone. The apartment should have the landlord’s number somewhere. He was going to make sure Sam didn’t unexpectedly get a lap-full of someone from the apartment above when the damn floor gave way. 

The apartment was quiet. Dean wandered around, scoping it out now that Sam wasn’t following behind him with that exasperated expression on his face, like Dean had no business making sure he was safe. It wasn’t that Dean didn’t trust Sam’s skills. Two sets of eyes were just better. 

And if he topped up the salt line outside the windows and sprinkled some on the top frame above them on the inside, that was his business and Sam could just get over himself. 

He made the phone call to the landlord and checked that the salt tape over the doors was wide enough and didn’t have any gaps. And then, when he was sure that he’d made enough noise to wake anyone who might have still been asleep, he picked the lock on Sam’s roommate’s bedroom door. 

The room was a bit of a wreck, which was jarring compared to the rest of the apartment, but Sam always had been a neat-freak. It looked like the room had been neatly organized and then someone had rushed through looking for something and not cared about the disaster left in their wake. 

The laundry basket in the corner was piled high with dirty clothes. And by the look of her underclothes, Sam’s roommate was a girl. Or a guy with a fondness for pink roses and thongs. He resolutely moved on, not particularly comfortable with the idea of rooting through his brother’s roommate’s underwear, even if he was concerned about her being a potential threat. 

He picked through the closet, finding a selection of clothes that gave him a contrasting view of Sam’s roommate. It took him looking through a few minutes before he realized that there were two girls living here. One was tall, thin, with a pragmatic style that leaned more toward a comfortable, casual state of dress that was still professional in appearance. From the perspective of a hunter (of which Dean was the finest and so a very good judge), the outfits allowed for professional style and a good blend into almost any scene, with the ability to take off running if the situation called for it. 

The second girl was shorter, a little larger in build, with a style that leaned primarily toward bright colors and ease of movement. Bright pinks and purples in outfits that were loose but didn’t have any unnecessary dragging bits of fabric that could catch. Sneakers seemed the primary choice of footwear for the second and the shoes were in good condition but clearly well-used.

Despite himself, he was impressed, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to pick apart every piece of the bedroom to be sure neither of them were a threat to his baby brother.

Once he had checked out the closet (the shelf above the closet rod was covered in dust and had clearly not been wiped down in over a year - something else he would complaining to the landlord about), he moved onto the bed. There wasn’t anything interesting under the bed or hidden under the blankets. He lifted up the mattress and checked the area between it and the box spring, but there was nothing. The pillowcases were empty of anything except pillow and the light fixture was filled with dead bugs and dust, but nothing unexpected. 

There was something in the corner of the room covered in a white sheet. Dean glared at it for a long moment before he whipped the sheet off, and promptly had to scramble to catch the canvas as it toppled off the easel. He carefully nudged the easel back on balance and set the canvas back in place, and only then did he see what was on it. 

A laugh bubbled out of his throat before he was able to stop himself and Dean scrambled for his phone so he could take a photo. Someday - not today but  _ someday _ \- he was going to send this picture to Sam, with no context. And maybe a bunch of other people, too. How often did you get to see a painting of your brother with a mermaid’s tail and a seashell bra? 

Dean was still giggling when he found the note. 

_ Dear Couch Potato -  _

_ When you're done snooping, there's a breakfast plate in the refrigerator for you. Heating instructions on the cover. Wreck my painting and they'll never find your body. _

Dean grinned at the note and looked around a few seconds until he found a pen. He scribbled a little note on the bottom of the piece of paper and leaned it against the painting. He thought about covering the canvas again but decided to leave the sheet on the bed, to make sure she found the note. Then he checked out the dresser. 

Two minutes later, he slammed the dresser drawer shut, his face burning in embarrassment. It was one thing to find a note on a painting canvas. It was entirely another to find one wrapped around a vibrator.

_ Didn’t peg you as the type to go through a girl’s sock drawer. Kinky. _

_ Also, Sis, you really need to hide your shit better than this. This is just awkward, even for me. _

“Sam, you are lucky I love you,” Dean mumbled. He scanned the room with his eyes to see if he had missed anything, then laid down on the floor and checked  _ under _ the dresser. Nothing but dust. 

With a huff, he turned and headed back toward the door, only to stop in surprise when he saw the post-it note on the back of the door, written in the same handwriting as the note in the dresser, different from the one on the canvas. 

Scowling, he read it, and dropped his head into his hands. 

_ What else did you expect to find in a girl’s underwear drawer? xoxo _

Dean stomped out to the kitchen where the telephone was and grabbed the stack of post-it notes. He scribbled a note and stuck it to the front of the bedroom door, then stomped off. 

_ I don’t know who you are, but you suck. _

Then he went to the fridge and got his breakfast. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean delivers a message to Sam from Loki and the two brothers have a conversation about hunting. Then Sam's friends help him surprise Dean for his birthday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope everyone is having a Happy Yule! Here is a surprise chapter as my gift to you. <3

It took all of Sam’s strength to keep from bolting out the door the moment the clock hit half after ten. His right leg bounced in impatient agitation as Professor Ryan continued speaking about something he hadn’t been able to focus on at all. His thoughts barely wavered from Dean at all during the class. Was he awake yet? Did he get the key Sam had left for him on the counter? Had he gone off and gotten breakfast? Was he wandering around campus or back at the apartment now? Had he run into Sam’s mysterious roommate during his perusal of their room? Sam knew he wouldn’t have been able to resist for long.

His lips twisted into a smile and he shook his head slightly. He wondered how much of an apology he owed his roommate.

Professor Ryan released a soft sigh, but it caught Sam’s attention. His eyes flicked up to find their gaze focused on him. “Class is dismissed.”

Sam swung his bag over his shoulder and grabbed his books. He slipped through the crowd of students rising from their desks and made it out the door quickly. Even with his attention focused on getting back to his dorm, he was not unaware of Professor Ryan’s gaze like a burn on his back, wary and unwavering.

He turned the corner and slipped out of their sight, and took off at a jog through the halls, unable to stop the smile that turned his lips up. He was just so glad Dean was here.

It took him only a couple minutes to get back to his apartment, the building where they held his literature class on the edge of campus and not far from The Feckin’ Bean. He took the stairs two at a time, pulling his keys out of his pocket as he exited out on the third floor. There was a thought needling him that he was trying to ignore - the idea that he would open the door and Dean wouldn’t be in his apartment. That he would go out to the parking area behind the building and find the Impala gone. That his brother had just left.

Sam hesitated with the key in the lock, his fingers trembling lightly on the doorknob. If Dean had left, would he answer his phone when Sam called? Did he even have the same number? He’d said he had to replace the phone but then he’d listened to Sam’s voicemail, so the number must be the same, but if Dean left, then surely he wouldn’t answer Sam’s call…

The door opened, pulling away from him, to reveal Dean wearing a questioning expression that didn’t quite mask the concerned glint in his eyes. Sam’s eyes flicked to the door and he swallowed at the sight of the peephole, shutting his eyes. How long had he stood there with his mind whirling down a spiral of increasingly terrible scenarios? How long had Dean been watching?

“You have trouble with the door or something? Forget how to use a key?” He opened his eyes and Dean grinned at him. “That big brain of yours get lost in a textbook somewhere?”

Sam’s lips quirked upward. “The door sticks.”

Dean nodded slowly. “Okay.” He pulled the door open further and stepped away so Sam could come in and shut the door behind him. “So, I ran over to that coffee shop this morning. The one with the hot girl who nicknames people.”

“Kathy,” Sam said weakly, as he shut the door. Dean wouldn’t come right out and say it, but Sam could read the unspoken message there. _The door didn’t stick when I came back._

“Yeah, her. Do you know she picks out the kinds of coffee she’s going to give people? You don’t need to order, she just hands you what you didn’t know you liked?”

“Yeah, she does that.” So Dean wasn’t going to mention the thing at the door. That was fine with Sam. He was perfectly happy with ignoring it completely.

Dean was nodding. “Funny. I didn’t know you liked Cadbury Cremes.”

Sam dropped his keys.

He bent down and quickly picked them up, shoving them in his pocket. “I… what?”

Dean was giving him an amused look. “I got this giant coffee that tastes like fucking pecan pie and ice cream. And I brought you your drink.” He jerked a thumb at the counter, where a tall coffee sat, lidless, topped with a light burst of whipped cream and drizzled with caramel. There was a cadbury creme egg straddling the side of the paper cup, drizzling caramel into the coffee and somehow miraculously leaking none on the outside. A little heart had been painted on the side of the cup and underneath it, a dash and then the letter L.

“I am supposed to tell you… and I’m supposed to say it exactly, for who the hell knows what reason, but…” Dean cleared his throat and, with a bemused expression tightening his eyebrows, said, “Don’t know about you, Samoose.” He quirked his eyebrows at Sam in an expression that clearly read, _Really, dude?,_ “but I like to suck on the tip of the egg until it bursts in my mouth and I get to taste that sweet, sweet-”

“Oh god, Dean, stop.” Sam could feel his cheeks burning and he covered his eyes with a hand so didn’t have to see his brother’s face.

“Dude. Your ears are fucking _glowing_. Something you want to tell me?” Dean leaned against the counter and waggled his eyebrows at Sam.

“Did _Kathy_ tell you to say that?” he asked, unable to mask his tone of revulsion at the idea. That joke was… well, he’d thought it was private, but more than that, Kathy was like a _sister_ to him, if anything.

“Nah. Didn’t she say yesterday she wasn’t your type? She made the coffee, but that chick that signed it was the one that told me to tell you that.” Dean gave him a leering grin. “And dude, she was _hot_.”

A girl? What girl would say something like that to Sam?

And then it hit him. Gabriel - Loki - could shapeshift. He could change into a horse if he so chose, so what was stopping him from turning into a female version of himself?

A female version of himself that his brother thought was _hot_.

“Come on, Sammy. What’s her name?”

Sam’s brain floundered for a minute. “Gabby,” his mouth muttered, without consulting his brain first, the bastard. “She never shuts up.”

“Oh yeah, she looked like she was talented with her tongue,” Dean said, grinning, “and that description about cadbury eggs, man…”

“Dean. I will castrate you in your sleep.”

Dean threw his head back in a wild laugh. “That’s my boy,” he said, clapping a hand hard against Sam’ back. “But damn, Sam, she is way out of your league.” He grinned teasingly. “Sure you don’t want someone as boring and nerdy as you?”

“Who says she isn’t?”

Dean only laughed and nudged him with his hip. “Gonna tell me the story of how you two met?”

Sam snorted, sucking whipped cream up his nose, and coughed hard, setting the coffee down. He wiped his nose, smearing whipped cream across the back of his hand, as Dean laughed hard beside him.

“Maybe later,” Sam said, grabbing a paper towel and blowing his nose. All he could smell was caramel and he was imagining the hell that would be his nostrils being stuck together with the dried insides of a cadbury creme. He could almost imagine Gabriel’s laughter at the thought.

Dean hopped up on the counter and grabbed his own coffee. “What’ve you got planned for this afternoon, _Samoose?”_

Sam pointed a finger at him with a scowl and a sharp “No.” Dean grinned at him and Sam tossed the paper towel in the trash. “That depends.” He picked up his coffee again. “How much of a mess did you make in my roommate’s room this morning when you broke in?”

Dean gave him an insulted look. “Sammy. I am surprised at you.”

Sam sent him a bitchface and Dean grinned back at him, completely unashamed. “Just making sure she doesn’t have knives hanging from the ceiling and a torture chamber under the bed.”

“A torture chamber, Dean? Really?” Not that Sam hadn’t seen things weirder than that, but his attention had caught on something else. “She?”

“Oh yeah, you’re roommate’s a girl. Two girls, maybe.” He frowned, thinking of the two different styles of handwriting on the notes left for him and the clothes in the closet. A shudder rolled through him at the thought of the one. “I bet she’s hot.”

Sam rolled his eyes and nibbled on the end of the cadbury egg. “What do you want to do? Did you have lunch?”

Dean waggled his coffee cup at Sam. “You’re looking at it, Sammy.”

Shaking his head, Sam pushed off the counter and headed toward his room. “Let me put my books away and we can stop at the Commons. We can get something to eat that has _some_ nutritional value.”

“Coffee has nutritional value!” Dean called after him. “Look at all the dairy I got just from the whipped cream. I’m super healthy, Sam!”

* * *

It was the strangest thing, showing Dean around campus. With different classes and being friends with people he didn’t remember even seeing the last time he went through Stanford, Sam was making a ton of new memories. There was something about having Dean here, however, when he had never been, that really put things into perspective. That really told Sam that this wasn’t the same life he had lived before. This time, things were different.

“I can’t believe you’re a parapsychology major!” Dean said, laughing as they left the science building where Sam had had his psychology class the previous semester.

Sam grinned. “I’m also minoring in computer science and mythology.”

“Dude. I already knew you were a super nerd. You don’t have to get a degree to prove it.”

Sam shoved him in the shoulder, making his brother laugh. “Shut up, Dean. I’m not doing it for the degree. Imagine how useful knowing all of this will be with hunting. If I’ve actually had classes on it, we could spend less time--”

His brother had stopped walking and Sam turned back to look at him, finding Dean’s brows furrowed.

“Dean?” Sam asked quietly.

Dean looked up at him, his eyes confused. “With… hunting?”

Sam licked his lips, his mouth dry. He’d known this conversation would come, though he hadn’t expected it to come quite so soon.

“I thought…” Dean looked like he was afraid to ask. Like if he brought it up, Sam would change his mind. His eyes were confused when he looked at Sam. “I thought you were done with hunting? I thought you wanted out?”

Sam hesitated. He thought about telling Dean that no, he had just wanted to go to college. He had just wanted the chance to learn something other than what he could pick up from different schools as they traveled back and forth across the US and out of books. And while that was true, it was also true that Sam had wanted out of hunting. He had wanted a normal life. Denying that - lying to Dean - would do nothing for them, and Sam didn’t want to live that life anymore. He would be keeping the time travel from Dean for now, and the fact that _Gabby_ was a trickster god (goddess?) who was also an archangel.

He would be lying enough. He didn’t want to hurt his relationship with his brother this time around by lying when he didn’t need to. Especially when he suspected Dean would see right through it.

“I thought I did,” Sam said, his voice soft. “I thought I wanted a normal life. I wanted to go to law school.” He huffed a laugh, looking down at the ground as he thought about those years at Stanford the first time, when he had done his very best to be absolutely normal. It had been, at the time, a relief - proving to himself that he _was_ normal. But then later, when he was back on the road with Dean, it had been an even greater slap in the face, knowing he could never truly leave that life.

This time, he had embraced the fact that hunting was a part of who he was, and he had no intention of trying to leave it, trying to be something he wasn’t. He was as much a hunter as his brother and always would be.

“But then I got here and law school seemed… foolish. How could I be a lawyer and live a normal life knowing what’s out there? I’d never be able to stop jumping at shadows and if I...” He swallowed, thinking of his first life, of the possibilities that he had wished for then and would never have now. “If I ever did marry and have kids… how could I raise them as if the world wasn’t filled with monsters? When I complained to dad about the monster in my closet, he gave me a .45!”

Dean was staring at him, his eyebrows furrowed. “That’s a lot of changes, Sammy, and before you even started classes. What happened?”

Sam hesitated, but then let out a low sigh. “Someone may have… attacked me not long after I arrived.”

Dean went into hunter mode in a second, his hand reaching for his gun. “Who kidnapped you? I’ll smoke their fucking ass.”

Sam raised his hands in a calming gesture. “Relax, Dean. It was months ago and they’ve been… dealt with.”

“What happened?” Dean growled.

Sam rubbed his eyes. “I was asleep. Someone broke into my motel and tried to knock me unconscious. I kicked their ass and they were dealt with by the authorities.” That wasn’t a complete lie, just a mix of timelines. His arrival here from the future had messed with his awareness and had allowed the man to knock him out and take him captive. In the original timeline, Sam had been attacked but had fended the man off. And if Loki wasn’t an authority, then Sam didn’t know who was. So it wasn’t a complete lie. Sam just wasn’t quite ready to tell Dean about being on friendly terms with some of the creatures they were raised to hunt.

Dean was eyeing him up and down like he was checking for wounds. “You sure you’re all right?”

“Yeah, Dean. I’m sure.” Sam smiled. “But it put some things into perspective. This is my… our life, Dean. And I can run if I want to, but it’s going to follow me.” He looked up at his brother. “I don’t want to spend my life running.”

Dean opened his mouth, looking concerned. God, but Sam kept putting that look on his face. “Sam, if you want out, I won’t make you come back. I mean, if you really don’t want to be a hunter…”

“I do want to be a hunter, Dean. It just took me a long time to realize that.” Over two centuries, in fact. “And if I’m going to live that life, it makes sense to learn something that will help with that. So… parapsychology, mythology, and computer science.”

Dean swallowed and looked like he was trying to decide what to say. He licked his lips. “Okay, I get parapsychology. That’s like those nerds from _Poltergeist_ , right? And _Ghostbusters._ You’ll be all set if we ever have to rescue Carol Ann or fight a painting.” Sam carefully didn’t react at that, knowing that they would, in fact, have to fight a painting. “And Mythology - cool. But computer science? Did you just want to make sure you could never be mistaken for someone cool? With that haircut?”

“Dude,” Sam said, covering his hair protectively. “My hair is awesome.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I still have pictures of you with long hair, you know.”

“You do not!” Dean looked at him almost frantically. “Shut up. Do you really? Burn them.” Sam laughed. “I’m serious, Sammy. They should never see the light of day.”

Dean followed him, grumbling, as Sam started walking again. “So how long are you gonna be here?” he finally asked. “Bachelor’s Degree is usually… four years?”

“Usually,” Sam agreed.

“So when you’re done… you’ll get back into doing hunts?”

 _Jesus, Dean, just ask me._ “Well, I kind of thought we’d do hunts together,” Sam said with a careless shrug. “It’s always nice to have a second pair of eyes.” He ignored the way his brother swallowed hard, like he was trying not to cry. “And who says we have to wait until I graduate? I handled a hunt over winter break.”

“You what?” Dean demanded. “By yourself?”

Sam shrugged. “I sort of got dragged into it, but it wasn’t too difficult to figure out. You ever hear of a Woman in White?”

* * *

Sam and Dean ate lunch in the Commons. The large cafeteria, a vast array of tables and chairs bordered almost completely by kitchens and food lines serving different types of food left Dean practically salivating in indecision. Sam had ended up splurging a little more than he probably should have to pay for Dean’s entrance and ability to get different foods from a few different kitchen areas, but it was worth it for the look on his face. Plus, it was his birthday, which Sam hadn’t mentioned yet because he had plans.

He made it to a table before Dean, his tray tastefully filled with a salad and a small cup of soup, and took a moment to text Kathy and Rey, setting up something for that evening. He was careful to tuck his phone out of sight before Dean got there. He wanted it to be a surprise.

“Dude, this place is amazing,” Dean said, as he set his tray down and dropped into the chair across from Sam. “Can I come here and just get a degree in eating food?”

Sam laughed. “I don’t think so. My friend Rey is a culinary arts major, though. You could talk to him if you were really interested.”

Dean snorted and shook his head. “Could you see me in a place like this, Sam? I know you like it, but I could never do it. I could never stay in one place that long.” He gave a self-deprecating laugh. “Besides, we both know you’re the smart one. I’d never even get in the door.”

“Hey,” Sam said, the sharp tone of his voice startling Dean, who looked up with a jerk, “don’t talk about yourself like that. You’re really smart, Dean. Sure, I’m good at books and research,” he shrugged, “but you’re smart in other ways. You’re good with your hands and you’re good at learning by doing. Don’t sell yourself short over a piece of paper. I told you, that’s not why I’m here.”

Dean grumbled under his breath. “Geez, okay, you don’t need to get all weird about it,” but he was blushing a little and wouldn’t meet Sam’s eyes. He sank his teeth into the burger he had gotten from the kitchen and spoke through a mouthful of food. “You’re such a girl.”

“I’ll have to introduce you to some of the girls I know. I’ll take that as a compliment.”

There was the soft sound of something being set down on the table and Sam looked over just as Dean cried out “What the fuck?”

“You totally don’t see me,” Alice said, from where she hung upside-down from the ceiling, a bright purple sash wrapped around her legs like some aerial dancer from Cirque de Soleil. “I am invisible. And in disguise.” She set a cup of coffee on the table in front of Sam, which was quite the feat for someone who had to hold it right-side-up while she was upside-down. She gave them both a jaunty wave. “Bye!”

Sam picked up his coffee and took a tip as he watched Alice crawl backwards up the sash rope like a spider, disappearing through a panel in the drop ceiling.

“Who. The fuck. Was that.”

Sam smiled around the rim of his coffee. “Alice. She’s Kathy’s little sister. I think she works for The Feckin’ Bean, too.”

“What the fuck kinda stuff they teach at this school? Ninja-Training?”

“I think there’s a Parkour Club, actually. She might be president.” He grinned at Dean, who was still staring at the ceiling, mouth ajar. “How’s your coffee?”

* * *

It ended up being a fairly lazy afternoon. Sam and Dean wandered around campus for a while longer, with Sam showing Dean the different buildings, the theatre, and the park where the willow tree he often visited was located. He showed Dean the dormitory he was supposed to be staying in and Dean muttered a little about crap electricity jobs and maybe taking a look at it before he left. Sam wondered how long it took that morning before Dean had called his landlord to complain about something.

They made their way back to the apartment after a while, lounging around and chatting idly. They touched on hunting more than Sam had expected, with Dean asking him if he had any special plans about where he would go after he graduated. Despite Sam’s reassurances, Dean still seemed to believe he didn’t want to get back into hunting. Or maybe he was just afraid to get his hopes up.

Sam said he didn’t have any set plans, although that wasn’t exactly true. He knew where the Men of Letters’ bunker was located and he planned on going there over the summer to set up something of a home base. He would introduce Dean to it slowly, give him time to adjust, to learn about this other, new side of their family. It would also be a good, safe place to store information he didn’t want falling into someone else’s hands.

Eventually, Sam’s phone buzzed in his pocket with a text from Rey, saying that they were ready. With a grin, Sam slid his phone away and motioned for Dean to follow him. His brother set his near-empty beer bottle on the counter. “What?”

“Come on, I’m taking you out for supper.”

“There’s like… half a pizza in your fridge.” But he had stood up anyway, following Sam. “Where are we going?”

“It’s a surprise.”

“Why is it a surprise? Will there be girls there? Will they be hot?” He gasped as they stepped out of the apartment and Sam locked the door behind them. “Are you taking me to a strip club? Sammyyyyy.”

Sam laughed. “Shut up, Dean, and come on.”

“If this isn’t a strip club, I’m going to be very disappointed.”

* * *

It wasn’t a strip club but Dean couldn’t bring himself to be disappointed. 

The Feckin’ Bean (and seriously, who names their coffee shop so you swear at someone every time you say it?) smelled like the inside of a bake shop. The counter where Dean had stood earlier that day was covered in a dozen different dishes - all of them some form of pie. Meat pies and vegetable pies and fruit pies. Breakfast quiche and pudding pie and something that looked like a pie made out of fucking rainbow gelatin. Dean desperately wanted to poke it and see if it jiggled.

“Happy Birthday, Trigger,” Kathy said, as he stared at the smorgasbord of pie in front of him. “You can have a little bit of everything since you’re old.”

“The fuck?” Dean asked, spinning to face Sam. “Did you tell people I was old?”

Sam laughed and damn if the sound didn’t just make Dean’s fucking day. “I told them it’s your birthday, dude. They can tell you’re old all by themselves with that haircut.”

“What’s wrong with my hair?” Dean demanded. 

“Nothing’s wrong with your hair,” spoke an unfamiliar, teasing voice. “It suits you. Not the jacket… you’re dating yourself there. And I won’t get started on your car.”

“You leave Baby out of this,” Dean warned with a growl, even as he eyed the boy up. He was probably the same age as Sam, though shorter than him (though who wasn’t?), with olive-toned skin and dark hair that hung to his shoulders. A carefully trimmed beard and moustache encircled a large grin, and he had the strangest pair of orange-colored eyes that Dean had ever seen. 

“I meant no offense. She is a lovely car. I’m Rey, by the way.” He held out his hand, which Dean shook after a moment. “I hope you’re hungry. Sam demanded a dinner of nothing but pie so I had to get creative. It was fun. I think there’s a pie made strictly out of bacon somewhere in this mess.” 

Dean perked up. “Really? Excuse me…” He darted over to the table in search of the bacon pie, hoping the kid wasn’t lying. 

Was that a pie made out of bananas? Pudding and bananas.

Weird.

“Thanks, Rey. I really appreciate this.” He heard Sam’s voice behind him, quiet but not enough for Dean to miss it. 

“Hey, he’s your brother. Turned out in your favor that you got to spend his birthday with him. Also explains where you’ve been all day. We missed you this morning.”

Sam chuckled. “I didn’t want to leave the apartment. Almost skipped class. I think I owe Professor Ryan an apology. I didn’t hear a word they said today.” 

Rey chuckled. “Family can do that to you.” There was a pause. “You seem really happy, Sam. I’m glad.”

“I didn’t expect to see him. I mean, I figured once I graduated, but I didn’t think he’d come see me.” Dean’s fingers tightened around the handle of the knife he was using to cut a slice of the meat pie. He resolutely didn’t turn around and hug the shit out of his brother, even though Sam’s voice had cracked on what Dean easily recognized as tears. Shit, but he should’ve contacted Sam long before now. “This is the best weekend of my life, I think.” 

“And it’s only Thursday. You’ve got a really fun weekend to look forward to.” 

Sam laughed wetly. “Yeah. I have no idea what we’ll be doing.” 

“Ah, I can talk to Kathy, see if she knows anything fun to do around the area. She’s lived here a couple years now. Alice could give you a few ideas, but it’d probably get you arrested for trespassing.”

“Do you know she delivers coffee from ceilings now?”

“You haven’t seen anything until you see her spinning on a ceiling fan, handing out coffee orders to a crowd. That girl is terrifying. I’m pretty sure she’s related to Murdock from A-Team.”

Sam laughed loudly. “I’m going to go get some pie before Dean eats it all. Thank you, Rey.” 

“Whatever you need, kit. You know that.”

Sam stepped up next to Dean and grabbed a plate. “What’s good?” he asked. 

Dean nudged him with a hip and sent him a smile. “It’s pie, Sammy. It’s all good.” He dropped a slice of the vegetable pie on Sam’s plate, knowing that’s the one the health-freak would go for. “I think there’s one with strawberries here too, ya freak.”

Sam laughed. Dean resolved to make sure he did that at least a hundred more times before he left again. There’d been too many fucking tears already.

“Happy Birthday, Dean,” Sam muttered as the two sat down at a table. 

Dean grinned at him. “Best one yet, Sammy.” He kicked him lightly in the shin. He wasn’t talking about the damn pie.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean is totally not dreaming about Maroon 5. He leaves after a weekend with Sam, and we finally meet the roommate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Never tell Dean Winchester you're planning on separating him from his brother. It makes writing that separation damn near impossible. 
> 
> Sorry for the delay in getting this out, guys. I've been dealing with some shit. But today is my birthday, and since hobbits have the right idea about food, I have to think they know a little something about birthdays, too. So here's my gift to all of you! Enjoy!

**CHAPTER FIVE**

* * *

There was that sound again, the heavy  _ thwump, thwump, thwump _ that he couldn’t place but was sure he should know. It filled the air, not just a sound but a sensation. A ricochet in the wind and in his chest. It filled him. Steady, like a heartbeat but heavier. Two heartbeats pulsing in time.

_ Thwump, thwump, thwump _

The beats rocked the air, billowing around him. A gale, a hurricane, a soft spring rain. He could smell the saltiness of the sea, boardwalks and fries soaked in vinegar and salt. He could hear seagulls in the distance, the blare of foghorns far out to sea. And softer, he could hear the patter of rain on a tin roof, could feel the weight of a storm in the air and something else, something more physical, draped across his back. He could feel arms grasping him and smell spring flowers and a summer rain in the wind that rushed past his face. He could feel winter behind him and summer within him, and something soft and gentle, less but  _ so much more,  _ just ahead of him and at his back and all around him. 

And eyes, blue eyes, watching and studying. Eyes staring out of the darkness like a cat, too bright and brilliant and curious and claustrophobic. Blue eyes like the sky and the smell of rain all around him and a pressure, like falling and rising, like flying and crashing and--

“Dean.” 

He blinked his eyes open in the darkness of the room, staring at what he was certain was the ceiling with his heart beating loud in his chest. That dream again. Always the same dream. The thudding whump against the air and the smell of rain and his name, spoken in a low, gravely voice he was sure he knew, or should know. 

_ Who are you?  _ he wondered, rolling over to glance at the clock.  _ And why  _ **_the fuck_ ** _ do you wake me up at 3:17  _ **_every fucking morning?_ ** _ What, am I in a Matchbox 20 song now? _

He dropped his head back onto the pillow with a low growl and shut his eyes, trying to fall back asleep. 

Immediately, he heard Rob Thomas’ voice in his head, singing  _ “She says baby, it's 3 am I must be lonely”  _ and he rolled over onto his stomach, yanking Sam’s pillow out from underneath his head just to hear him shout in shock. He clapped the pillow down over his ears and ignored Sam’s heel digging into his thigh in retaliation. 

_ “Well I can't help but be scared of it all sometimes _

_ Says the rain's gonna wash away I believe it” _

He let out a loud groan and begged for sleep.

* * *

“That is the last time I share a bed with you,” Sam grouched, as Dean stumbled out of the bathroom, yawning and making a bee-line for the cup of coffee that sat on the counter. “Were you running a marathon last night? Maybe you should lay off the caffeine.”

“Listen here, Sammy,” Dean said, pointing a sharp finger at Sam as he grabbed the coffee cup. “You don’t go telling a man to give up his coffee. It’s a fucking necessity.” He took a huge swig of his coffee and sighed. Pecan Pie. 

“So what… you normally wake up at 3am singing  _ Maroon Five?” _

“I was not singing--”

“Yeah, you were.” 

Dean stared at Sam. His brother was a nosey little shit. “Dude. I air guitar in my sleep. Full Metallica lead guitar badassery. Shut up.” 

Sam grinned at him. “If you say so.”

* * *

As far as Dean was concerned, the weekend both dragged on and moved far too quickly. Friday finally had them visiting one of the bars in the city. Sam and Dean played pool against one another until Dean was able to rope another man into a betting game and Sam slipped away like a disgruntled patron (he had been losing his game, as part of the ruse). 

They switched throughout the night, gambling with their contenders and carefully losing games and winning others so they could keep competitors coming. By the end of the night, both of them had made a tidy sum, but Dean forced Sam to pay for their beers when his little brother told him how much he had won on his first night of hustling. 

Saturday saw them doing something Dean had to admit he never expected. 

“Y’know, there’s a  _ reason _ cars were invented,” he said, as he watched the horse Sam was riding shift nervously beneath him. “It’s so geeks like you don’t end up on their asses on the ground.” He nudged his own horse into moving alongside Sam’s. “Loosen up your grip or he’s gonna buck you off just for being a stiff dick.” 

Sam huffed and rolled his eyes, but his grip on the reins loosened and the horse calmed down slightly. “How do  _ you _ know how to ride when I don’t?”

“Ah, Sammy, I’m just full of surprises,” Dean said, patting his horse on the neck. 

Sam’s weird friend, Alice, rode by, balanced in the saddle on her head. Dean stared after her for a long minute.

_ “No one _ is as weird as your friends, though. They win, hands down.”

* * *

“Where are you off to next?” 

Dean looked at his brother, dragging his tongue over the ice cream cone to catch the bits that were melting. “Who says I’m going anywhere?”

Sam chuckled. “Dude, yesterday, you cleaned your gun three times, and I’ve started to fear for the safety of my roommate’s plants.”

“I prefer moving targets, Sammy!”

“You’re going stir-crazy, Dean. I know the signs.” Dean sighed heavily. “So where are you off to next?”

“I don’t know, dude. I haven’t exactly been searching the papers for a case.” He smirked ruefully. “I was sort of planning on hanging out a while longer but… I’m losing my mind here.” 

“I hate to break it to you, Dean--”

“Shut up, Sammy.” 

Sam grinned at him. “We can grab a paper on the way back to my apartment, take a look and see if there’s anything nearby.”

* * *

“You’re sure you don’t need me to stick around a few more days? We can go to a couple bars a few towns over, get you some extra cash.”

“I’m fine, Dean. I have to get back to class in the morning.” 

His brother sighed. “Yeah, yeah, my brother’s a geek.” Dean swung into the driver’s seat of the Impala and shut the door. He peered out through the window. “You call me if you need me, Sam. No waiting until you’re drunk as shit.”

Sam smiled at his brother. “I know. I will.” He waved his new phone. “I’ll call even if I don’t need you. If I come across any cases, I’ll let you know about them.”

Dean nodded. “Good.” He pointed at Sam. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do. Or  _ anyone.”  _

Sam rolled his eyes and Dean laughed, giving his brother a wave out of the window as he pulled out into the street. Sam watched him go, and so was in the perfect position to watch the Impala swerve as Dean shrieked, before Alice leapt out of the window and took off running with a shouted “Kathy says to enjoy your coffee, Trigger!”

“Sam, your friends are jerks!” Dean yelled, but Sam only waved and chuckled. He was pretty sure Dean got a coffee  _ and _ a pie, so he probably wasn’t too angry. The Impala started off again, turning the corner and disappearing from sight, and Sam made his way back to his apartment. 

The weekend had been perfect, a chance for him and his brother to relax and have a good time. He was disappointed to see Dean go, but his brother wouldn’t have been able to stay at Stanford for much longer before he lost his temper over being stuck too long in one place. Besides, Sam meant what he had said about keeping in contact.

He opened the door to his apartment to find that Alice had bypassed The Feckin’ Bean and made her way here. She was sitting on the couch, three different card game decks spread out on the table in front of her in some bizarre combination he wasn’t sure he wanted to understand. 

And Kathy was standing at his stove, cooking. 

“Um… hey, guys.”

Alice waved without looking up from her game but Kathy turned around with a grin. “Sup, Roomie. Dinner?”

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on tumblr as TalkingToMyselfAgain.


End file.
